It Was a Dance
by mtfrosty
Summary: For one, it is the final piece of insanity sliding into place. For the other, it is the cold grip of reality finally making itself known. One-shot.


_Be prepared for major angst and don't expect a happy ending..._

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It was a dance. So fluid and so graceful that an observer would be tempted to disregard the subtle presence of lethal intent. It was there, but not obvious, as the two participants were not seeking to harm, but only to gently remind the other that what they were doing was not a game; it was a reminder of the dangerous world they lived in.

They danced together, but not as a husband would dance with a wife. There was no music, there was nothing romantic hanging in the air, and there was no sense of serenity surrounding the two. It was a dance to a lost melody that had been found for but a moment.

It was a moment filled with laughter and play, despite the seriousness of the matter. It was an escape. It was freedom. It was child-like enthusiasm from two broken souls seeking repair.

They did it, because they were broken. And each step, every move, slid small pieces back into place.

It was never enough, but one could always hope. There had to be a way to make things as they were, to make the past the present. A man could only try and hope for the best. And these two men were giving it everything they had.

Every strike, every cut, every slice, every block, parry, shove, burn… it was all worth it. Because in the end, after it was all said and done, no matter who won or who lost, it reminded them of what they still had and not of what they had lost. It brought smiles instead of grimaces, happy tears rather than sad ones. And the pain was in the ache of strained muscles and labored breathing. It wasn't the endless pain of a heart that had been wrenched one degree too far.

It brought satisfaction, something a real battle could never bring.

The two flashing blades buzzed and hummed, echoing through the spacious room. The familiar sounds were drowned out only by the constant banter of the two men.

It was banter born from a brotherhood unlike any other. This was the kind that could not be broken, the kind that only the brothers themselves could tear apart.

"Easy there, old man. You're knee popped a little too loudly that time."

"I see my ploy is working."

"Of course it was intended…"

The constant chatter overshadowed thoughts of battles won through sheer superior strength, where victory came with too many losses to feel anything but defeat. The images of dead, frozen eyes staring up from the ground faded away as the smiling face of the man in front of them took their place. It was not practice; it was therapy.

They sparred in hopes that maybe someday they could just spar for fun, and not to keep in shape for a war they fought involuntarily.

They sparred, because a broken soul cannot be mended if it tries to fix itself. It needs the help of a friend.

Of a brother.

~~~OOO~~~

It is a dance. So wild and so violent that an observer would have to really concentrate to glimpse the underlying grace and dignity that used to describe it. But there is not even the slightest hope of an audience. And even if there was one, it would not be an audience; it would be a group of witnesses with tearstains on their faces, throats raw from screaming hopeless pleas at the two warriors.

There is music this time. It comes in the form of sulfurous blasts and smoky hisses of steam vents. The roar of a molten river provides the spontaneous rhythm. It is a dull, morbid tune that encourages a saddening dance. And both warriors know that somehow, this time it will not last for but a moment. It will last throughout eternity.

This is worse than any battle fought before. This is not freedom. It is not escape. And there is no enthusiasm. This is betrayal. It is fear and loss. This is pain, at its peak performance.

For one, it is the final piece of insanity sliding into place. He watches silently as the key to his trapped existence is thrown out like a piece of trash. He accepts it, and he thrives in it. He is what it means to surrender.

For the other, it is the cold grip of reality finally making itself known. He watches helplessly as everything he ever worked towards, everything he loved, is taken mercilessly from his grasp and dangled just out of his reach. He is what it means to let go just once. And it is one time too many.

It is happening, because they are broken. They have been broken for years.

It reminds them not of what they had, but of what they have lost. They have lost friendship. They have lost whatever fragments of peace they were hanging on to. They have finally lost the battle they had been fighting. It had not been a battle fought with weapons and armies. It had been fought with tears, arguments, confusion, and bitterness.

They have lost hope.

As the dance continues through the dismal landscape, the Force itself begins to crack and tremble. Anyone paying attention can feel it, even those who have never actually felt the Force before. Some actually glimpse the bright star as it begins to fade and blink out of existence. It had been the brightest of them all. It was a light born not from the Force's Chosen One, but from the bond between two of the Force's most treasured sons.

The dance is nearing its end. Fury is rising even as a final, piercing cry breaks through the cloud of darkness. "Don't try it!"

All of the pain caused by the deep betrayal of one so dear to the man's heart is present in that cry. It is the man's final plea to his son, to his brother. It is denial. He knows hope is lost, that he will never know that man again, but even so, he tries to defy what he knows is inevitable.

It is his last attempt to save his lost child.

And true to his nature, the other man does not listen. He does not heed his mentor's advice. Instead, he throws himself over the edge he had been teetering on for the better portion of his life. The dance ends first with a moan and then in an agonizing scream, as the flames of darkness claim what was destined to be theirs.

It culminates in a final declaration of love that would echo through the Force. "You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you."

They fought, because they were broken and had never been fixed. They fought, because the pieces of their shattered existence were jagged and they hurt. They fought, because they had tried everything else. Everything else had not been enough.

And so it ends.

The bond breaks, the star disappears, the Force goes black, enveloping the galaxy in a thick veil of darkness.

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_Please Review! Just a quick note to anyone who's been reading my story "Never Gone", I'm taking a break from that one right now, but I'm definitely going to keep going with it one of these days. Thanks again for reading!_


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